


Westeros will know the Black Bolt

by Bear_Islander (W12_Supernatural)



Series: House Mormont/Wanasov stories [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Major canon divergence, to be updated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W12_Supernatural/pseuds/Bear_Islander
Summary: A (somewhat) self insert mostly written because I really wanna get it out of my system, don't take it too seriously :)Contains things related to my continent of Americanos
Relationships: Alysane Mormont/Original Male Characters, Dacey Mormont/Original Male Character(s)
Series: House Mormont/Wanasov stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736236
Kudos: 3





	1. Some things to get out of the Way

Ok, just some things to get out of the way:

I have Americanos (where Teublonf is from) and its regions and people drawn out and taken care of: I need to actually post all the regions and houses on this site. If you check my profile you can see I already posted House Wanasov (Teublonf's House) and the Styr (Teublonf's home region) already, so that provides some basic information. Before each chapter, I'll have a note that contains any information relevant to the chapter, so that way you aren't (entirely) in the dark.

As for the wars mentioned in the summary, I plan on writing a ASOIAF-esque story about them. I have the previously mentioned houses and characters that I will put in that story; I already have somewhat of a first couple chapters done so I might take care of that; I also have a chapter list in place with (potential) summaries. I will try not to mention that story as much as I can (because the first couple chapters are just drafts) but as always, any relevant information will be mentioned before the chapter, of course.

First few chapters are mostly to set things up.


	2. 1:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teublonf remembers, and meets the Mormonts
> 
> First few chapters will set the scene

_Teublonf lifted Swyl into the air by his collar, a feral grin on his face. "Do you know why I like threatening people? Why I like tormenting people?" He asked as Swyl struggled in his iron grip. "Because of the power it gives me. In a way, its fun, controlling someone's fate. You could kill them, mutilate them, set them free and its all up to you, as they beg you to be merciful. Its a game really. And like most games, you can't play it forever, so you must make the most of it while you are playing it," he let go and Swyl dropped to the floor, groaning in pain as his leg buckled. "Its a high, that control. And like all highs you must wait to use it when you don't have it and get every use you can while you have it. Oh how good that feels."_

~

Teublonf sighed as the Cold Harbor longship sailed, across the northern oceans and onto the sunset sea, taking in the view.

A far nicer than what he'd been used to, admittedly. The last few years had been marked by war. Not just in the Styr, but in the East and Cooperlands and Vale as well. Teublonf had had to witness what war truly was: Not glorious, not honorable, but savage. Even the most honorable men turned craven when war visited them. And the less than honorable ones... Teublonf didn't want to think of what they turned into. Not again. Not after what he'd seen.

Sure, his brother sat the Blackwood Throne, as King on the Blackwood Throne and Ruler of Four Kingdoms, but at what cost? Including his nephews and nieces and cousins, House Wanasov had had over twenty members (not including wives) at the start of the wars, and just three came out it alive. Teublonf himself, his sister Raméa, and his brother Haragon, (the King himself), the latter of whom had lost his own wife and four children to the wars, and had been forced to remarry one of the Easterlander maidens for an heir.

But Raméa was off in the Estenhaal now, doing whatever the hell she was doing. Probably riding and eating her beloved honey cakes.

Teublonf's thoughts drifted to his last conversation with Haragon, right after the man had been crowned king. He'd wanted Teublonf by his side, under the idea that Wanasovs stuck together.

 _"I need you here. I need men I can trust as I try to rebuild our homeland,"_ Haragon had told him when Teublonf let him know he was returning to Westeros.

Teublonf had shook his head. _"I've committed too many crimes to remain here. My demons will haunt me if I remain here for the rest of my life."_

 _"Treason is subjective,"_ Haragon had shrugged. But Teublonf shook his head again.

_"Is incest? Is kinslaying? What will happen when they find out about the fact that I killed our mother? Our nephew? What will happen then? You're too damn honorable to let that slide, no? Teublonf may have been a twisted man but Haragon was an honorable and just one._

Again, Haragon shrugged. _"War makes people into things they did not think possible, things they regret in peacetime or in death. War changes people."_

Teublonf remembered how Haragon had hid in the Valley throughout the wars, as the Easterlanders, Valleymen, Estenhaalites, and Styrics spilled blood fighting for him, and how Teublonf had done all the dirty work, disposing of their nephews lackeys and earning the loyalty of the Styrics in his brothers name. As their brother Cameron, his wife, and most of the Valleymen were slaughtered at Paganal by a seemingly loyal bannerman. And now that brother was being crowned King. The irony of it. The unfairness of it. 

_Aye," he agreed._ War did change people. It changed him and Haragon, no doubt. _"It made you a coward."_

 _"Go then, and never come back lest I do charge you as a criminal."_ Haragon's tone was dangerously low. It was the tone of someone who wanted the conversation to end lest they draw their sword. Or worse. In spite of the words, Teublonf did not regret his own words.

Teublonf exited the room but before he left and turned around. _"A leader who cannot do himself what he expects others to do is not fit to lead."_ He didn't bother to wait for his brother's response, for his mind had been set prior to their conversation, and now it was set in stone.

"Somethin' on your mind? _"_

Teublonf turned around to see one of the men who had joined him on his journey east, Véot. The man was chewing sourleaf (as many Styrics did) and had a surprisingly concerned look on his face.

Véot originally came from Youngston, a town across the river Andan from Cracovia, and was sworn to that town's ruling house, House Smathers. The man had fought under Teublonf's command at the battles of Beloraton and Ofan, and like many of Teublonf's men was deeply loyal to him. The end of the wars had left many of the Styric soldiers without a place to go, and several of them, Véot included, decided to head east with their former commander. After all, Westeros wasn't really that bad of a place, and the continent always needed fighting men. 

Teublonf nodded. "Nothing too bad. Just not used to being at peace, is all." Teublonf had been fighting non stop for almost ten years now. He knew what to do while at war. But peace? He was lost. He knew what some people did during peace, they married, had families, got to watch as their sons became lords or knights or maesters and their daughters married off and became mothers and wives themselves. But Teublonf had never seen himself doing that. He'd always pictured himself giving his life in service of his home. Of the Styr. Especially when the only woman he'd bedded previously was his now married sister.

Yet the Styr wasn't his home anymore, and his sister was hundred of miles away, likely never to see him again. Mayhaps he could become a completely different man than the twisted, horrible one he'd been during his time in the Styr. Mayhaps

Véot nodded. "Aye, makes sense." He grinned, showing off his red smile, and held out some sour leaf. "Want some?'

Teublonf shook his head. He'd tried the stuff, but as Teublonf rarely engaged in any sort of vice, sourleaf included, (a notorious vice among Styrics) it wasn't for him.

Véot, sensing a dismissal, nodded, though the grin remained on his face. "More for me and the others I suppose. Enjoy your brooding then!" He departed back down to the cabins.

Teublonf simply chuckled as the man went back to whatever it was he was doing. Véot meant well. They all did. "We're too happy to have you back, my liege," he'd said when Teublonf had asked why some of his former soldiers were joining him. 

"Oy!" the voice of the lookout called, snapping Teublonf out of his thoughts. "I see Bear Island!"

~

Bear Island was a harsh ragged place, with few things that made life enjoyable for most people. It was a land dominated by large trees, streams, and hills. Compared to the relatively nice Styr, a region of rolling fields and plains, that were scenic and picturesque, the island was far more ragged than the flat plains that dominated the Styr. Teublonf guessed the people were similar to the landscape. Nothing if not rugged and brutal.

 _It takes a special kind of person to live here._

At the docks, Teublonf and his men (four, including Véot) were met by two people. A stout, unattractive, chunky woman, wearing a mix of boiled leather, turned inside out and mail, with a sword strapped to her belt, and a grizzled older man with a salt and pepper beard and a spear in hand. The woman looked to be around his age, the man at least twice his age, which would put the woman in her late teens/early twenties and the man in his mid forties, Teublonf guessed. The woman nodded respectively towards his party.

"Teublonf Wanasov." her voice was gruff and taciturn. "Well met. My name is Alysane Mormont." She indicated the older man next to her "And this is Owen Knott, master of arms of Mormont Keep. We're supposed to escort you to the hall, under my mother's orders." The older man gave no indication of his opinion on the five Styrics, though Teublonf mistrusted the look in his eyes.

Teublonf nodded back to them, before introducing himself and his men. Véot, Soryn, Tagan, and Vaus. Afterwards, he indicated the path ahead. "Lead the way."

Mormont Keep, where the Mormonts lived, was definitely not like the castles Teublonf had grown up in and seen as a boy. It was not made of stone, rather, it was made of giant logs, surrounded by an earthen palisade. It did not look to be a good state either, although it clearly had been expanded on several times. Based on that, Teublonf guessed the Mormonts were rather poor, perhaps not much wealthier than a minor house of Americanos.

As if she read his thoughts, Alysane turned to him. "We're not a wealthy house, but a proud one, and loyal to the Starks."

Teublonf increased his pace to catch up with her. "I guessed as much. My plate armor is probably worth as much as the entire keep," he jested.

She laughed. "Aye, its probably true. But I'd rather be proud and loyal than wealthy, I suppose," 

"Pride and loyalty mean nothing when you are on the brink of death, trust me." Teublonf's voice had lost the lightheartedness. "The very threat of death turns proud men into beggars, loyal men into cravens, honest men into liars. People do horrible things to live." he remembered his own experiences in the Styr. His own actions, some of which would haunt him for the rest of his days.

She digested his words. "You're probably right. But sometimes, pride takes over."

"Pride is all consuming. But so is survival." he shrugged as they reached the keep and entered the main courtyard, the guards letting them in once they saw Alysane. Owen departed for other places, and the four men were offered rooms of their own.

"Apologies, my mother wished to speak to you alone." Alysane did not sound very sorry, however. Teublonf, for his part, simply turned to his men, who looked hesitant to leave them, and nodded. _"Go,"_ he told them in the old tongue of the Styr. The four of them nodded and followed the stewards, perhaps grateful for the promise of rest. Teublonf did not blame them. Unless you were a native Cold Harborite, longships were not a comfortable place to be.

They entered the main hall. As expected, it was austere. Shields of ancient, long gone houses decorated the walls. Teublonf only recognized a few: The kraken of the Greyjoys, and a few shields from the Easterlands. The four pointed star of Northerns, the crossed swords of the Aiatons, the teardrop of the Greys, there was the Stockman shield as well, its red cross and blue bend sinister there for all to see. Teublonf even saw the anchor of the Sovanens and the barrel of the Coopers on some. _How'd they get a Cooper shield?_ The Mormonts may have been poor in wealth, but they did not lack for taste, at least. Teublonf found he liked that.

A big boned, wrinkled. grey haired woman sat at the end, surrounded by her daughters, whom Teublonf guessed Alysane's sisters. The oldest was perhaps a few years older than him, the youngest near old enough to be his daughter. Alysane joined them and sat down, before whispering something to her mother, who simply nodded.

"Sit, boy." she said, indicating a chair near the main table. Teublonf recognized that voice. The voice of Maege Mormont. 

Teublonf knew very little of her, but they'd met during the Greyjoy rebellion almost a decade prior, when a then fourteen year old Teublonf had joined the Royal Army of Robert Baratheon. Back then, he'd been a green boy, seeking glory and riches and honor and everything like that. She'd been a welcome change from the ladies Teublonf was used to. Gruff, blunt, and a damn good warrior, Teublonf remembered her offering him a place in her service, but Teublonf had respectfully declined, out of a desire to see the world, and had spent a year in Essos, fighting as a sellsword in the Disputed Lands and on the River Rhoyne, before returning to Americanos. He knew she knew as he once sent her a letter on a Cold Harbor longship when he'd been in Cold Harbor last.

 _Where it all went wrong._ But Teublonf quickly dismissed those thoughts

When Teublonf sat down, she got right to the point. "Been a while since I've seen you. You've changed, haven't you?"

Teublonf had meant to respond but the youngest Mormont girl interrupted him. "Wait mother, you've met him?!"

"Met him during the Greyjoy rebellion, Lyanna." Maege responded, looking up and down his body in a way that made Teublonf's insides squirm. "Back when he was a glory seeking green boy, with a sword and dreams of riches and honor and glory."

"And I return a hardened veteran of a devastating war," Teublonf replied, smiling. _A monster._ "Aye, I've changed. For better or worse, I know not. War makes old men out of green boys." It had certainly done that to him, even though Teublonf technically wasn't a green boy. Yet it definitely made him a man

"The War of the Seven Kingdoms, they're calling it," that was the oldest Mormont girl, who was probably around his age. Teublonf turned to her.

"You've heard of it?" Not that he was particularly surprised, Westeros and Americanos were more intertwined than many from either from either continent wanted to admit. News from one continent was oftentimes the other continents knowledge within less than a fortnight.

She nodded. "We all have. It's quite a conflict."

Teublonf sighed unhappily, losing any good mood he had from earlier. "Not in the way you think." Almost six years of war that devastated the northern part of Americanos. The Styr had burned and thousands lay dead. Thousands of those who deserved their fates, and tens of thousands more that didn't.

She chuckled before becoming serious again. "You need to tell me what happened in that blasted western continent of yours."

Teublonf indicated the tankard. "I'll need ale for this. If I tell it sober I can't trust myself to tell the full truth."

Maege poured him a cup and handed it to him. "You have your ale. Now speak."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick timeline: 
> 
> 275 AC: Teublonf is born in Cracovia Heights  
> 288 AC: Teublonf heads to Westeros and initially settles on Bear Island  
> 289 AC: Greyjoy Rebellion: Teublonf fights under the Mormont banner (because he's technically a Bear Islander) and is knighted. Maege Mormont offers him a place in her service but he declines and heads to Essos  
> 289-90 AC: Teublonf is in Essos, as a sellsword. He fights under the banner of the Windblown and fights mainly in the Disputed Lands and on the Rhoyne.  
> Late 290 AC/Early 291 AC: Teublonf deserts the Windblown and returns to the Styr. However, his ship is wrecked and Teublonf himself washes up on the Nose.  
> Mid 291- Late 296 AC: The Wars of the Seven Kingdoms. Haragon Wanasov is crowned King on New Years Day, 297 AC  
> Early to mid 297 AC: The story begins. Teublonf is 21 going on 22 in Chapter 1.


	3. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teublonf tells his story.
> 
> Some POV from Dacey

_"War is hell," Vyron chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "Thats all it is."_

_Teublonf shook his head. "War is worse than hell. War is war."  
_

_Vyron leaned forward to face him. "And how war worse than hell? Hell is where the worst of the worst people go."_

_"Which is what makes war worse. Hell has no innocent bystanders. War... it is full of them. Aside from the highborns who order their men to their deaths, and maybe a few men who commit heinous acts, every casualty of war is innocent. Thats what makes war worse."_

_~_

Teublonf spent the next two hours with the Mormont women, all of whom remained rooted to the spot in rapt attention, telling them the story of the previous few years.

All the while, the Mormont girls would interrupt him with questions, both about the events themselves and the continent of Americanos. At least they'd wanted to learn. Teublonf may have hated himself for what he'd done, but he was still proud of his homeland and his house. 

He was a Wanasov, after all. And Wanasovs defended what was theirs to the death.

"I never would have thought a bannerman, one who'd sworn his oaths to your house, would betray his rightful King," that had been the oldest Mormont, Dacey, when Teublonf had finished telling them about the massacre at Paganal, a look of disapproval on her face. Beside her, Alysane nodded in agreement. She looked at him with quizzical eyes. "Do oaths mean that little to you people?"

Teublonf shrugged. The Sentos were now extinct and those who'd played a role in the massacre were all dead, some by his hand, so he'd long stopped thinking about the entire event. "House Wanasov was fighting amongst itself. Robyn claimed to be the rightful King, but Cameron and Haragon had opposed him because they thought the man who'd organized the massacre, Ventis Sento, would whisper in his ear, Sento only really cared about himself. But he invited them based on the concept of reconciliation. I've longed stopped thinking about it, truth be told. Everyone who played a role in the massacre is now dead."

"And yes, oaths do mean a lot to us," Teublonf had said when Dacey opened her mouth again. "But not everyone takes their oaths so seriously. I know the same to be true in Westeros,"

The Battle at Beloraton had been a touchy subject for Teublonf. It had been the battle where he'd realized just how wrong his nephew had been about the Coopers, the one where Robyn had only given him a few hundred men to fight against several thousand. The one where they'd all learned how deadly war could be. Teublonf thought of it as the day where he lost the last of his innocence.

They'd lost, of course, but Teublonf made the Cooperlanders fight for every inch of the town. Rallying his men when they were routed and fighting until the dead of night when the enemy camped, Teublonf snuck out of the city and headed north.

That battle had won Teublonf the respect of pretty much everyone in the Styr not named Robyn Wanasov or Ventis Sento, and it meant Teublonf had allies, as he attempted his ultimately successful coup against Robyn. Véot and Soryn themselves were survivors of the battle, and the two had sword their swords to him. Sure, he'd lost. But the Cooperlanders learned that day that the Styr would not fall so easily. Not when they fought under the Wanasov banner. Not when their commander fought with them the way the Young Bolt had.

"Impressive, truth be told," Maege's tone sounding like she was commending him. Teublonf merely shook his head.

"I went into Beloraton that day with four hundred men and only twelve came out alive, five of whom later died of their wounds. Not impressive to me."

"But you were outnumbered more than fifteen to one!" Lyanna Mormont seemed in awe of the battle itself and the fact the Wanasov army had somehow survived. Why, Teublonf had no idea. He'd learned the hard way that battles had no glory in them, especially when the odds were against you that much. Death and destruction were all that came of war.

"I understand, my lady, but I led those men. Knew many of them personally. And I witnessed far too many be cut down on that day, and I took responsibility for all of their deaths. A commander who does not take responsibility for those under his command is not fit to lead them." Teublonf remembered the battle far too vividly for his liking. Especially when he'd found out the city had been sacked the following day after he'd had to retreat to Analon to lick his wounds and gather more men.

Maege nodded. "Very true. Now continue, will you?"

It was an exhausting two hours, and Teublonf was drained mentally at the end of it. He'd spared them some details, namely the incest and kinslaying. But he'd told them most of the details, both good and bad. And he'd had to rack his brain when pressed for other details, too. Houses large and small, various geographic details that he'd not had to remember in close to a decade. Teublonf just thanked the fact he'd listened to his Maester, the one at Analon where he'd been fostered as a boy. That man knew how to teach.

Teublonf was dismissed and led to guest chambers, but a part of him remained distracted, all throughout his sparring with Véot and Soryn and dinner later in the day. In truth, it was maddening.

That night, he found himself unable to sleep. Not because he wasn't tired, he was. But for him, sleep had become as bad an enemy of him as the Coopers had been. Mostly because Teublonf was haunted by his actions. The aforementioned incest and kinslaying, he was numb to. But the killing itself, that haunted him, both the deaths of his men, and the killings of the enemy. It was strange, Teublonf knew he shouldn't feel guilty for the killing, he'd only been doing his job. But he felt guilty all the same. Why?

 _A commander who does not take responsibility for those under his command is not fit to lead them._ Teublonf remembered the prior conversation he'd had. Perhaps that was why he felt so haunted. Because he felt like in a way, it was his fault so many men had died. Véot, whom Teublonf had once confided in, compared it to survivor's guilt, and Teublonf didn't think he was wrong.

Why did he live, when countless others had died? Why was he one of the three remaining Wanasovs? Why couldn't Swyl have lived? There were so many questions that could not be answered, no matter how much Teublonf wanted them answered. 

And they felt like a parasite. Draining all of his energy slowly but never killing him, no matter how much he wanted it to. 

He sat in the great hall of Mormont Keep, a horn of ale in his hands and a full tankard nearby. Alcohol was a great distraction, at least it had been for Haragon, and the older Wanasov had done far less to warrant the distractions. Maybe it would work for him. Due to his secrets, he normally avoided it as much as he could, (he'd learned his lesson after telling Swyl about his desire to torment people due to the power it gave him and his subsequent threat aimed at Swyl), but those secrets never really bothered him anymore; other things took their place. Other things that now fucked with him to no end, though these things weren't necessarily a product of who or what he was but what he'd seen and done.

It was the middle of the night, when the whole keep was asleep, which meant that aside from the nighttime guards (which were more concerned on threats from outside, so Teublonf was ignored) no one was awake. 

Well, except for one person. And that person watched him from the shadows.

**Dacey**

She had so many questions about the Wanasov man. Some about the men he'd came with, but mainly about him.

She knew who he was well enough, and apparently he and her mother were familiar with each other, familiar enough for her mother to remember him after several years. He seemed nice enough, telling her and her sisters the stories of his previous fights (and apparently Alysane thought his sense of humor to be a good one) He wore a mix of boiled leather, plate, and mail for his armor, as well as a helmet, with a sword slung to one hip and a warhorn kept on the other. His plate armor looked castle forged but was spotted with dents and scratches, and he seemed far more at ease at war than at peace, just judging by the way he acted in peace, and it seemed he almost preferred the thick of battle.

But the way he spoke about battles and war made it seem like while the Styric preferred war to peace, he didn't like war that much. The way he spoke was full of guilt, guilt as to why he'd survived and so many others had fallen. Guilt as to why he remained when so many others he loved had died. The man clearly suffered from survivor's guilt and it fucked with him to no end. That said, he didn't speak that much of his family, or the people he'd previously known except as a mention in the stories. His face was largely clean, no scars or blemishes, and the man himself was clean shaven, with an admittedly attractive face, but he was the veteran of half a hundred battles. How was that possible? His hair, while not truly clean, did not resemble an ugly birds nest either. If Dacey had to describe him in one word he was handsome.

 _A Mormont woman takes whoever she wants as her husband._ Dacey had to purge those thoughts from her. He showed no indication of wanting her or any woman. Yet, he was man, and men had their own desires.

He was also calm. Deadly calm. His face gave very little of his intentions or motives away. Had her mother not known him, Dacey would have both despised and feared him. She wondered if he had a temper. If anything, it was a cold temper, one that took a while to unearth but was absolutely terrifying when done so, and implacable too. She knew the Wanasov sigil to be a Black Bolt, so perhaps it was a thunderstorm. Or a lightning storm, that would have been more apt.

His eyes, on the other hand, looked dead, and he occasionally looked as if was about to start crying at any moment. Why, Dacey had no clue. But she'd never experienced true war, and the Styric visitor had, and it very clearly haunted him. He seemed like he wanted to forget everything he'd witnessed and yet, he somehow couldn't. No matter how hard he tried. It was like a weight on his chest that stayed there and the more he tried to shake it off, the heavier it got. The Wanasov himself had chalked it up to the Gods being cruel.

 _"The Gods are, by their nature, cruel,"_ The Styric had said. _Because if they weren't, they wouldn't be gods."_

Which was true, of course

~

She was watching him from the entrance to the Great Hall. He had a drinking horn in his hand and a tankard of ale on the nearby table, though even from this distance in the nighttime she could tell neither had been touched. He just seemed to be staring off into the distance. He was in thought, and it was obvious as to what he was thinking about.

Finally, she decided to walk over to him, still in her nightclothes. He didn't look up even as her footsteps became audible to him, but he nearly jumped when she pulled a stray chair and sat across from him.

"Can't sleep?"

Teublonf shook his head and drank, chugged more like, half the ale. "Rest is yours." 

She accepted the horn and drained it before setting it aside. "And what brings you here to the great hall in the dead of night?"

His eyes, she noticed, were devoid of emotion. "I couldn't sleep. Not that it comes easy to me these days."

She cocked her head to the side and frowned. "And why doesn't it come easy to you?"

"Because," Teublonf's voice was hollow. "Every time I fall asleep the only thing I can see are ghosts."

"Of what?" Though she asked, Dacey knew what haunted him. She just wanted him to confirm it.

Teublonf sighed, looking down. His face looked as if he was fighting several internal battles in the space a few seconds. "Of those I've fought. Of those I've killed. Of those I've known." He exhaled, shakily. "I've seen so much, done so much that my ghosts seem intent on haunting me."

"Tell me," Dacey was suddenly _very_ concerned. Teublonf didn't look like he was totally in the living world. His face was pale and eyes distant, and he remained looking at the ground. He looked liked he was so close to drifting into the world of the dead;

Teublonf looked up at her. He jerked his head towards the cask of ale.

"Drink up, then. I'll only tell you what I want to."

She looked skeptical, because he was clearly hiding things from her, but she needed to know whatever he was willing to let her know

_The last of the Cooper enemy were dead, and the ram all but destroyed. Corpses of Wanasov and Cooper men littered Ofan's front courtyard, and it seemed there were at least four Cooperlanders dead for every Wanasov dead._

_Some of the men began cheering, but Teublonf knew full well it wasn't over. Not when they'd only killed a few men. And Daryn Cooper brought over sixty thousand with him to Ofan_

_Swyl turned his head to him, a confused look on his face. "Teublonf?"_

_"They were just testing our defenses," Teublonf was horrified. "Now they will come at us with full strength. This battles only just begun."_

_The men were still cheering, but that quickly died down when fighting began to break out in other parts of the defense. Teublonf had gambled and placed his best forces at the main gate, leaving the other gates lightly defended, hoping the Coopers weren't tricking him and pouring most men into other gates. Because if they were, they were dead._

_"M'lord," a soldier bearing the anchor of Cold Harbor ran to them. "They're attacking the walls across the city now."_

_"Go," Teublonf told Swyl. "I'll hold things down here."_

_"You sure?"  
_

_"Yes I'm sure! Now go hold that blasted wall!" Teublonf had all but roared, and that had been the end of the discussion._

_Teublonf repositioned himself to fighting position. "And now, the real fight begins."_

_And the enemy was upon them_

_~_

_Teublonf groaned in pain as he sank to his knees, holding onto his sword for support. The battle felt endless. How many of the enemy did they have to cut down before it ended. For every one of the enemy they killed, at least two took their place. The bodies of Wanasov and Cooper men lay all around him, the Coopers briefly retreating to get their bearings. But it wouldn't end_

_The other gates had fallen after the main gate had, and the various Cooper-led troops poured throughout the city, slaughtering the retreating Wanasov troops and any civilians that got in their way. Perhaps they'd been too focused on the soldiers to not sack the city. Yet. If they lost today, they would do so the next day. Teublonf would not let that happen._

_Which was one of the reasons he kept fighting. When he became commander of the remaining Wanasov armies, he swore he would protect the people of the Styr from all threats, foreign and domestic. He swore he would look out for his men, that he would do everything he asked his men to do and more, to fight for every Styric person, from the highest of lords to the lowest of peasants. He would fight and protect them, give them a shoulder to cry on and a person to look towards for inspiration, and do so until his last breath. He did not forsake his vows so easily. Not when the people were concerned._

_"We're killing six of them for every one of us!" Vaus Devon had said excitedly as the remaining Devon men returned to their positions, numbering not more than fifty. As if this was exciting in any way._

_"That isn't enough!" Teublonf snapped, getting up with some effort. "It has to be at least seven if we're to live through the night!" They'd knew they were outnumbered six and a half to one, thanks to Teublonf baiting Daryn Cooper during the parley to reveal his exact numbers, and even the positioning of his forces._

_"And what do we do now?" that was one of the Yves boys. Perek or Lyman, Teublonf did not remember._

_Teublonf looked at the remaining soldiers, who were regrouping and reforming under Ser Seil Lyall, and sighed. "We fight to the last. For the Styr. For the people we swore to protect and shield. For time so our allies may aid us. For survival of us and our people."_

_"Bolts do not bend or break, they strike!" Vaus had yelled, eliciting some cheers from the men who'd heard them. Teublonf nodded as he saw the Coopers approach their position on Ofan's Street of Horseman. The way Ofan was built meant that the Cooperlander forces that took the southern, western, and southwestern walls meant the Street of Horsemen was their only way to get to the citadel of Ofan. In other words, it was their last line of defense_

_"I don't know if we'll make it through the day," Teublonf had said as he got into position. "But when the enemy comes upon us, we will let them know that Styrics bend the knee to no one. Today, we fight!"_

_And the enemy was on them._

_~_

_Again, it felt endless. Luckily for the Styric forces this time, the street was a chokepoint,_ _meaning Teublonf's defenders didn't have to fight the way they did in the courtyard or any of the gates._

_And yet, the Coopers and their allies, the Valemen of the Ledtowers and Sutherlanders of the Ryans, kept coming. Their numerical advantage still overwhelming, even with the chokepoint._

_One of the things he'd agreed on with the Frost and Nokoseov commanders was that they weren't to engage until Teublonf blew his warhorn. When, he would blow it was up to Teublonf, but the allied commanders had positioned themselves so they hid out of sight from Daryn's army. The Wanasov relief force north of the Andan, which had set out from Paganal the previous day, also was to use that as a signal to advance south and hit the Sutherlander and Vale camp. They too were hidden, though that was likely due to Lucas Vanhaal being as shortsighted as he was pale and not posting any sentries._

_There was yet another lull as the tired Cooperlander forces rested yet again in preparation for another attack. They were whittling down Teublonf's men by sheer numbers, and Teublonf's gamble seemed like it had almost failed. Not unless he blew his horn. The signal to attack._

_So Teublonf blew his horn. And let the Cooper and Wanasov men charge each other around him one last time and fight. But he kept blowing. He hoped the allies would get the signal._

_~_

_They had. The rumble of feet from the north and hooves in the southeast immediately stopped the battle on the street. Cooper and Wanasov alike turning to the rumble. The Wanasovs hopeful, knowing what it meant, the Coopers apprehensive, unsure._

_And then, the slaughter of the reserves in the camps. The fear overtaking the enemy._

_"What are you waiting for?!" Teublonf roared. "Charge!"_

_The Coopers learned the meanings of the Wanasovs words then and there. The cold kills the weak, and bolts do not bend or break, they strike. Wanasovs were both the cold that killed the weak, and the bolts that struck. And the Coopers took the fall that day._

~

_The next part of the battle was a blur, but the Cooperlander losses were total. Not a single Cooperlander, Sutherlander, or Valemen lived to tell the tale. Lucas Ledtower and Lucas Vanhaal were both killed during battle, dying like men. Daryn Cooper, on the other hand, had survived and was captured, but according to one of the Valleymen, he just simply died. No explanation given, and his body was apparently disposed of._

_Teublonf knew that was bullshit, but let it slide. He no longer cared about what happened to the Coopers. Not when he had other things to manage._

_The aftermath had seen an extensive cleanup, of bodies of soldier and civilian alike, the men having to avoid the rubble, and Teublonf went through the dead, looking for any one he'd recognized._

_There was Saron, who'd survived Beloraton, dead on the Street of Spears, an axe buried in his chest. Teublonf silently prayed to the old gods he would be treated better in the afterlife._

_Vyrien was another man at arms, a survivor of Beloraton as well. He died with the Brien forces on the southwest wall._

_Seil Lyall had also died after a leg wound he sustained during the battle festered without medical attention. A pity, Teublonf had thought. The man had fought well and was loyal to the end._

_Lord Nathan Koselka and his heir, Avok, were both dead as well. Avok on the south wall and Nathan in the south courtyard. That was also a pity, Nathan had been one of Teublonf's allies in fighting against Robyn, and Avok was a cheery young man whom Teublonf thought of as a competent and promising leader to head House Koselka when his father died. They would both be missed dearly by the Styr. Pyotr Bayros was also dead, fighting in the northwest courtyard against the Sutherlander and Valemen. Teublonf noted his body, which had a sword protruding from the chest, was surrounded by at least six of his enemy, his sword buried in a nearby foe. Clearly he'd gone down fighting._

_The worst, however, was Swyl. His cousin. His favorite family member not named Raméa. Swyl was dead on the main wall, and like Pyotr Bayros, had several enemies surrounding his body. He'd sustained several wounds, all of them potentially fatal, making it difficult to discern what wound had killed him, though the most prominent was the one on his upper leg where his breeches had been torn savagely by a sword slash. His blackguard armor was dented in all of the places he'd been hit, and his sword was protruding out of the body of a nearby dead Cooperlander. There were also a few arrows in his back. Evidently, he'd also gone down fighting._

_His was the death Teublonf felt the guiltiest about: After all, Teublonf had told him to go to the wall when the Coopers attacked it, and thats where Swyl died. Fighting for his people no less. And yet, Teublonf ordered him there._

_I sent the man to his death. The realization hurt Teublonf more than any physical wound could have hurt him. And yet, Teublonf knew dying for his homeland was exactly what Swyl would have wanted to do when the odds were hopeless. But they weren't. They'd won._

_But of the main Wanasov force in Ofan, only a thousand or so had survived the battle, and Lyman Chrille, who'd led the Brien contingent, was the only commander aside from Teublonf who lived. The relief forces had suffered little to no casualties, on the other hand. There was that bit of good news, at least._

_That meant the battle cost the lives of almost seventy thousand men, easily one of the worst battles in Americanosi history. The singers would write about it, glorious songs no doubt. About how a small Styric army had defeated a force seven times its size, against all odds. Word of the battle would reach Westeros and maybe even Essos. Surely it would. But Teublonf had been at Ofan, and it wasn't glorious. None of the men who fought at Ofan thought the battle to be glorious._

_Teublonf himself hadn't escaped unscathed, sustaining several wounds, mainly smaller slash wounds in the gaps his armor did not cover, such as his elbows, knees, and lower legs. He'd taken a pair of daggers to the back, and soon enough felt the rush of battle wear off and suddenly felt very weak, likely from blood loss. And dizzy, too._

_"Ser?" a concerned Lyman Chrille had asked when he noticed Teublonf on the verge of collapse. But Teublonf's body had nothing to give anymore, and the man who'd later become known as the Hero of Ofan in the Four Kingdoms collapsed in a heap in the arms of one his commanders._

_When he came to, he was in an unfamiliar place, a battle tent, but at least it was over. They'd won._

_And now they would live._

_And may the dead rest in peace._

_~_

Dacey had remained entirely silent throughout Teublonf's telling of the Battle of Ofan. She had not initially known why Teublonf acted and felt the way he did. But now, she knew why he did. 

She felt both relieved at knowing, but also felt some guilt, as she'd been the one to ask, it also meant she'd uncovered potentially even more demons of his.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. He shook his head.

"Don't be. Its high time I actually told someone how I felt,"

She was sure the confusion was evident on her face when he nodded. "You're the first person I actually went in depth with about the battle. Haven't done it with anyone else. Yet fresh wounds are the easiest to heal, I suppose."

She slowly got up and nodded towards the door. "I should be getting back to bed. Your story was draining to me as well."

He actually laughed at that, and she decided she liked the sound. "Enjoy your night, Dacey. Goodnight."

"You're not going to bed?"

"I told you about not being able to sleep, did I not?"

She nodded. "Well, in that case, goodnight, Teublonf." 

Right before she exited the hall, she cast one look at Teublonf, who caught her eye and smiled, raising the horn of ale in a salute to her. To her it seemed to say _Thank you for listening._

And as she returned to her chambers, she felt like she wanted to know more of this Teublonf Wanasov, the Hero of Ofan and an old acquaintance of her mother. Because it seemed he was more than that


	4. 3

_Daryn Cooper had a contemptuous, patronizing look on his face as he eyed Teublonf from across the table at the parley. "If you surrender, I will let you live. I will provide you safe passage home and be merciful. Fight and you will die." Teublonf didn't doubt the sincerity of his words. Yet, he mistrusted Daryn nontheless._

_"How do I know you won't slaughter us like animals when we leave?" Teublonf was more than willing to fight to the death, especially against the Coopers. The two Houses, House Wanasov and House Cooper, were ancient and bitter enemies, and neither house trusted the other._

_His smile did not reach his eyes. "I will let you live on my honor. You have my word."_  
  
_Teublonf snorted derisively. "Your honor is worth as much as a cheap whore. I think I know my course of action."_

_Daryn looked annoyed "What would you know about whores?"_

_"What would you know about honor?" Teublonf had sniped back. That had effectively been the end of the parley and Teublonf had departed back to Ofan with his retinue._

_"So?" Swyl had asked when Teublonf was back in the courtyard, the Styric forces getting into their positions across the city of Ofan, on both the city walls and in the various courtyards._

_"Today we fight. After that I cannot say," Teublonf's voice was calmer than he expected. Maybe it was because a battle was about to take place._

_Swyl nodded. "Aye. Today we fight. Tomorrow we live or we die," he sighed. "But we fight nonetheless. The cold kills the weak." One of the words of House Wanasov. Teublonf knew them by heart, every Wanasov did._

_"Bolts do not bend or break, they strike." the other words of House Wanasov. "And Wanasovs do not bend the knee for we don't know how."_

~

**Maege**

When she'd received a letter, stamped with a bolt on black wax, she did not expect it to come from one of her old soldiers.

 _Teublonf Wanasov._ That had been him. When the banners were called when the Greyjoys rebelled, she hadn't expected a tall, skinny, Americanosi to be among them, much less a member of one of the continent's Great Houses. But Wanasovs always liked to journey east. Her own great-aunt had married the founder of the Ironwood Motte Wanasovs, and they were decent enough people. She guessed the Cracovian Wanasovs were similar to the Northern ones, seeing as the Ironwood Motte Wanasovs always spoke highly of their Dréis cousins.

Back then, he'd been but a boy, a fresh face, eager to please and serve, who was, to put it lightly, very good with a sword. He was tall and skinny, but surprisingly strong. He exuded confidence and in his time in Westeros, he'd become a knight, a talented warrior in his own right. Hell, some even said he was Arthur Dayne reborn. Exaggerations, surely.

She'd even offered him a place as a household guard. Yet, he'd declined, telling her he wanted to see the world before he'd settled down. He'd been four and ten after all, so she understood. Whoever he fought for would have had a great warrior on their hands. And finally, years later, he'd sent a letter back to her.

 _Lady Mormont,_ the letter had said.

_I plan on returning to Bear Island after years away, I quite missed it, really. I have spent the last several years in my homeland of the Styr, mainly at war. I am returning because the Styr isn't really my home anymore. Not after what I've seen. Not what after I've done. Hell, after my own brother all but exiled me. I will reveal any information in due time, if I choose_

_By the time you read this, I will be a days sail away. I have taken the fastest Cold Harbor Longship I could find at the docks, and am bringing a few of my men with me._

_I hope to meet you again, its certainly been a while. But be warned, that boy you met at Seagard is long dead._

_All the best_

_Teublonf Wanasov_

And that boy had been dead. When Alysane led him in, she only recognized him thanks to how wiry he was. Teublonf had always been tall and skinny.

Appearance wise not much was different. He remained tall and skinny, naturally. His face remained clean shaven and clean, no blemishes. But she could tell he was a man now, and a clearly haunted one at that. His face still gave nothing away, but his eyes gave it all away. Clearly he'd seen things. Things that haunted him.

Which had been why she'd been so insistent on him telling her what he'd seen.

And it both fascinated and terrified her.

 _War makes old men out of green boys_ , the man had told her. He definitely exemplified that. When she'd pointed out he'd fought a war already, he'd replied that defending one's own homeland was different than attacking someone else's.

 _You don't really give a damn about what happens to the enemy, typically. But when it concerns your own people, you become more than willing to fight to the last. Whatever the cost. Especially when you swear by the gods to fight for them._ At least Teublonf Wanasov was a wise man, one who protected his people

She'd heard the singers sing. Everyone had heard of Ofan, and how a small Wanasov army, perhaps no more than ten thousand, defended one of Americanos' largest cities against an army six times its size, buying time for their allies from the Estenhaal and Valley to attack the enemy from behind and annihilate them. While Teublonf hadn't denied any of the statistics or what happened, he had been quick to point out the battle was far from glorious.

 _"i had ten thousand men in the city defending maybe twenty or thirty thousand people,"_ Teublonf had said, the haunted look in his eyes clear for all to see. " _Not one thousand remained. And so many civilians died on that day. We had to spend two whole days cleaning all the bodies. Plus the enemy was completely destroyed. I've never smelled so much shit."_

_"But you won! You're the Hero of Ofan!" Lyanna had been enraptured with the Styric's stories. Likely because she believed at least part of what the singers said about the glory of the battle. She'd learn, in time._

_Teublonf fixed her with a look. "Aye, I won that day. And I don't regret killing or anything like that. And yet, I was the Lord Commander of the Styric armies. I swore to look out for my men and do every task I expected of them myself. I swore to protect my people, to look out for them, to give them a shoulder to cry on and a person to look to for inspiration. House Wanasov defends the Styr and now the Four Kingdoms. We take our oaths of_ _protection very seriously. The Styric lords look to us for protection and it is our duty to provide that protection until the end of our days. And yet a part of me fails like I failed._

_"Why?" Lyanna had pressed on._

_"It was always during the lulls in the battle, when I would look around the field. And I would see nothing but dead bodies. Of my men, who died for the Styr. And yet, I swore to never ask my men to do anything that I couldn't ever do myself." He laughed hollowly. "Perhaps death included."_

That had led Maege to believe that Teublonf, despite not really exemplifying the stereotypical ideas of what a knight should be, lived by his oaths and might die for his oaths, one who would always push himself to do whatever he asked of his men

And he would die for his family as well.

The Styric in question was not in the keep or anywhere nearby, instead choosing to spend the day at sea with the Sovanen men who had agreed to stay another moon after docking at the island. Maege had recognized the value of the Sovanen men, who were trained sailors and excellent warriors, having them scout the areas around the island for any Ironborn or wildling raids that may occasionally come. One could never be too complacent.

They'd been all too happy to acquiesce. _"Some Cold Harborites spend their lives at sea. We're some of them," Their captain, Veres Akers, had said. Maege sent had him off on his way, but not before Teublonf had_ _muttered "And you've wives in Malatestat, Cracovia, Lordsport, Lys, Port Emvo, and the Arbor, you fucking manwhore."_

He'd been made to accompany them after that comment. Oddly, Teublonf had agreed without a fight, though not without adding to Veres that polygamy was technically illegal in the Eleven Kingdoms.

**Teublonf**

Having gotten more accustomed to the sea, Teublonf felt more comfortable on the main deck of the ship. Still, he wouldn't have been here if he hadn't snidely called Veres a manwhore for having six wives, all not knowing of the other five others, with at least fifteen children between them. His men joked that every time they docked, if he didn't have a wife, he'd marry a girl, and if he did, he'd get them pregnant. He'd only docked at six ports as six was the number of wives he could handle, or so his men japed.

Perhaps they weren't the best to criticize him. They were Sovanen men after all.

They were sailing around Bear Island, after agreeing to stay in Bear Island for another moon. Of course they'd agreed. No sailor ever turned down a fresh port.

The lookout, a clean shaven, raven haired man as tall as Teublonf, a Lysene named Mareno Maernerys , slid down the pole, a pale look on his face and handed the lens to Veres. "You may want to see this, captain."

Veres took the lens and looked in the decision Mareno had been looking in. The color drained from his face and he immediately began shouting at his men on the sails to change direction and head back to Bear Island.

Clearly it was concerning given the looks on Mareno's face as well as Veres', and Teublonf found himself asking them "What is it?"

"Crow's Eye," said Mareno. The moniker was unknown to Teublonf, who stared at the Lysene, who in turn gawked at him

"You don't who Crow's Eye is?"

"He isn't a sailor, Mareno," said Akers, whose face had yet to regain the color. "That's Euron Greyjoy. He's the most notorious sailor from here to Valyria."

"They say he cuts the tongues out of his crew members," added Mareno. "And he's one of the most psychotic men in the entire world,"

"His ship's name is named the _Silence_ for a reason," added Akers

Teublonf shuddered. "I take it thats why we're heading back?" They both nodded.

"Aye, we need to warn them. Because if we don't we're fucked. Veres turned to Teublonf. "You'll need to warn them and marshal the defenses. We'll blow our horn when he lands. Mareno, warn Jharanar and tell him we'll need his goldenheart bow skills again. We've some iron born to kill."

"Understood."

~

**Dacey**

It had been a normal morning like any other. Most of the men (and the Sovanen ship that stayed) were out fishing, and the Mormonts were dining in the main hall before continuing with their day before an out of breath Teublonf burst through the main halls, his sword drawn. Next to him was a pale Lysene, similarly out of breath

"Lady Mormont," he panted, struggling to regain breath. "We spotted Euron Greyjoy not that far off the coast. He may have landed already,"

"We'd recognize that sigil anywhere," added the Lysene. "That's Euron Greyjoy, no doubt."

Her mother acted immediately. "Dacey, Alysane, Teublonf, with me. You Lyseni and Knott, get my daughters somewhere. We need to get our defenses ready,"

A horn blew off in the distance. Teublonf exchanged a worried look with the Lysene before turning to them. "There's no time, my lady."

The sails no doubt were of Euron Greyjoy, and the four Styrics, the Sovanen men, and what few Mormont men they could muster watched as the _Silence_ landed on the beach, with perhaps three hundred men. Oddly, they gave no battle cry as they charged the hastily formed shield wall, consisting of both Mormont and Sovanen men. Dacey had once heard the Crow's Eye cut the tongues out of his crew.

Yes the Mormonts were a small house, but every Bear Islander fought like ten men. Thus, for every one of their men that fell, four iron born did as well.

Her mother was a scary force, shrugging off wounds like it was nothing and killing ironborn like it was as easy as breathing.

If her mother was scary, however, Teublonf Wanasov was terrifying. She'd expected to him to be a decent fighter, but even with nothing but a longsword he cut down the enemy like it was nothing. It was a graceful dance, more like, his sword felling the foe as easily as the man breathed. No ironborn who faced him lasted more that two seconds. The man also had an impressive range of motion, being able to twist, turn, and duck his way out of any situation.

"I don't see the Crow's Eye!" Teublonf roared, slashing at an ironborn's neck before thrusting into another.

"If we're lucky my mother's already killed him!" she roared back, burying her Morningstar into an ironborn's head.

"Yet there's no way he's not leading the raid!" she added after a brief pause.

The ironborn quickly retreated to regroup, eliciting cheers from Mormont and Sovanen men alike. Teublonf was not as happy, however.

"Akers on the left! Maege, Alysane, in the middle!, Dacey, help me on the right!" The Teublonf Wanasov that was a hardened battle commander was back, and Sovanen and Mormont alike quickly reformed as the ironborn wordlessly charged again.

"Here you die!" Euron Greyjoy bellowed as he joined the battle. The man made her insides squirm. He was tall and well built, his hair as black as the night and unsettlingly blue eyes, He wore valyrian steel armor and a longcoat, with a two handed battle axe that was at least half as tall as Teublonf (himself a rather tall person)

"Aim for his head, he isn't wearing a helm," said Dacey, grinning

Teublonf spared her a quick look, an irritated look on his face. "You aren't either,"

"True,"

Again the iron born charged, and again the Mormont and Sovanen men met them in shield wall formation. And again, Teublonf's sword moved up and down, side to side, and any iron born who fought him were dead in no more than two seconds.

"M'lady!" Dacey turned around, her morningstar ready for a killing blow, only to see it was one of the Sovanen men, covered in blood and dirt, spear and shield in hand. "The Crow's Eye broke through the left flank and is heading to the keep!"

Dacey paled. "Inform my mother and sister. Now!" The Sovanen ran off and Dacey turned and saw the Wanasov running towards the keep.

 **  
** ~

**Teublonf**

Teublonf burst into the keep, Dacey hot on his heels, Mareno and the guards at the doorway dead. He swore in the Old Tongue, then he remembered that the youngest Mormonts had been told to hide near the keep, in a spot found by Mareno. A cellar, if Teublonf remembered correctly.

 _"I will protect my people for as long as I am able to,"_ had been Teublonf's words when he became Lord Commander of the Styric armies. _"To give them a shoulder to cry on, and a person to look towards for inspiration. For House Wanasov, for the Styr. For my family. For my people."_

Wanasovs protected what was theirs to the death. They wouldn't have been Kings of the Styr if they hadn't. And Wanasovs never stopped fighting for their people. And they never would.

Teublonf noticed the Crow's Eye burst into the hall, with the youngest Mormonts missing. At least they hadn't been found. His axe was covered in blood and he had a maniacal look on his face. He looked at Teublonf, his face looking delighted in a way

"Been a while since I killed one of you Sovanens! The anchor falls hard, those your words?"

"I am no Sovanen," Teublonf said calmly, resignedly. "I am a Wanasov, and you will know what it means to fight Black Bolts. The cold kills the weak."

"Har!" The Greyjoy laughed madly. "Makes no difference to me! But I'm always up to add to my trophies!"

"I fought and killed your kin years ago, ser," Teublonf sighed. "You will join them in death. For bolts do not bend or break, they strike."

"What is dead may never die, but rises harder and stronger, boy,"

"And I am no boy," Teublonf replied. "As you will find out soon enough." He turned to Dacey. "And you will, too,"

"Now it begins," the Mormont heiress replied to him. Teublonf shook his head. 

"No. Now it ends,"

Euron lunged forwards and swung his axe sideways in a blow that would have cleaved Teublonf in half, but the Styric ducked just in time before swinging in an overhead blow, which the Crow's Eye blocked with his axe, only for Teublonf's left fist to meet him right between the eyes, momentarily stunning him. Euron quickly regained the initiative and swung overhead this time, a blow which Teublonf only avoided by diving out of the way. His following blow, another sideways one, was one Teublonf avoided by jumping out of the way in a superhuman show of reflexes

That last blow had left the Greyjoy overextended and he stumbled, followed up by Dacey darting forward, ready to cave his head in.

But Euron had similar reflexes to Teublonf, and blocked her blow before smashing in her shield with his axe, and the Mormont only narrowly avoided being carved in half. She managed to avoid his next blow, but then Teublonf was on the reaver.

Euron swung his axe around to Teublonf and the Styric failed to react in time for once, the axe meeting his stomach, cutting through the steel guarding it, and causing an immediate bleed. Teublonf howled in pain as he fell to the ground his sword clattering to the side.

The reaver dropped his axe and grabbed Teublonf by the collar, now looking absolutely terrifying. He grinned manically at the Styric.

"I'm going to cut your cock and tongue and hands and feet and make you watch as I rape every woman on this-"

"THUNK!"

The Crow's Eye hit the floor with a thud, releasing Teublonf from his grasp, the Americanosi hitting the ground hard. Dacey Mormont had caved in his head with her morningstar

Teublonf got up with some difficulty, feeling the battle high quickly wear off and the pain set in, retrieving his sword.

"Thanks, my lady,"

~

**ALL**

The Silence had contained many treasures, including the weapons and armor of the ironborn. Bear Islands' coffers were filled ten times over from the gold, (with each man that survived being given a large sack themselves) while the weapons of the ironborn themselves were claimed by the remaining Sovanen and Mormont men. The ship itself was taken by the remaining Sovanens, who'd made sure to tear down the sails and get rid of any remnants of the ships old crew. Veres had once said that no sailor ever turned down a good prize, especially not a ship. Dacey claimed Euron's armor, as it was too big for the wiry Teublonf, while Teublonf himself took the axe, never being one to pass up a good weapon, though, as the axe was not his preferred weapon, and sensing there being enough for a sword, he'd made a mental note to find a smith who could reforge Valyrian steel so he could get a sword and maybe a longspear out of it. He'd also claimed a large valyrian steel warhorn, red and banded with yellow, and chose to strap it to his side, giving his old warhorn to Akers.

The obsidian weapons they found were sent to the Night's Watch

As for Teublonf's wound, after he'd claimed the axe, he'd promptly collapsed due to blood loss from his wound, and two Sovanen men had had to carry him to the maester, who'd declared him bedridden and weaker than normal for the rest of the day

When Dacey had broken the news to him, once he'd came to, Teublonf had groaned. He hated being bedridden, no matter for how long

"Oh, I can think of many ways you, and her for that matter, can spend your time together," Alysane had said, falsely sweet, when she visited him with Dacey after dinner. Teublonf had been confused as to the meaning but he didn't miss the way Dacey choked and spluttered, her face turning a very lovely shade of red. The Mormont heiress in turn glared at her sister.

"And how would we spend our time together?" Teublonf noticed Dacey hadn't denied that she wanted to spend time with him.

Alysane had smiled deviously. For her it seemed out of character to smile so deviously. "Oh I don't know. But you wouldn't want that man to use just his hand wouldn't you?" Teublonf had been the one to turn red and glare at Alysane, who in turn looked at him, the smile still on her face.

"I rest my case," she left after that.

"Ass," Dacey muttered, closing the door after Alysane. She turned to Teublonf, who had kicked off the furs down to his legs and was back in his preferred boiled leather, albeit without armor "How are you feeling?"

Teublonf grimaced and got up and out of the bed "Like shit."

"The maester did offer you milk of the poppy. If I remember correctly you refused,"

He nodded. "Aye, I refused," He saw that she was looking at his chest. "Whats that look for?"

"Oh, nothing," but she was blushing. Teublonf was no fool, he knew what happened when a woman blushed. "How does a man have that many scars?"

"A man gets into lots of fights." he said simply, putting his leather shirt on. "A hundred, maybe more."

Dacey realized she'd never seen him without his armor on and she realized how wiry Teublonf was. He was skinny but what she guessed body mass he had was almost entirely muscle, all the way up from his legs to his arms. His entire body was long and skinny, including his hands and fingers She wanted to know what those hands could do to her.

"Dacey?" he sounded concerned. Dacey cursed herself. She should have been more subtle.

She bit her lip. "I think Alysane was right."

"About what?"

There was no going back now now that Teublonf was wondering what was the matter. "About spending time together."

"What are you saying?"

She smiled. "I think Alysane was referring to my feelings about you."

Teublonf was confused. "What feelings do you have about me?"

"You fool!" But she was laughing now. "A Mormont woman takes whomever she wants as a husband!"

Teublonf stepped back in shock, a weird look on his face, and it made Dacey crestfallen, thinking he wasn't interested in her. He simply said "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she turned to the door, thinking he'd rejected her. "I should get going."

"Dacey come here," his soft tone made her stop and looked back at him. "I was just shocked, is all." _Keep your eyes on her face, you goddamn fool._

"Shocked? About what?"

"Your feelings for me," Teublonf admitted. "The last woman I loved, in Cracovia years ago, betrayed me, so forgive me for being... guarded." He smiled then. "But I think I return your feelings,"

He kissed her then, and with a surprising gentleness, liberated her of all her clothes. Dacey was too stunned (and joyful) to reject him. He pointed to the bed, grinning wickedly as he began undoing his breeches. "Bend over on the bed, my sweet."

Dacey obeyed and buried her face in one of the pelts. She then let out a series of pleasured moans and screams as the Hero of Ofan fucked her hard from behind.


	5. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut

_"I can't understand it. I don't understand it." Sharyn Brien smirked as she had some of her ale, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement._

_What was she talking about? "What do you not understand?"_

_"You may not be a maid but I know you try not to love a woman. Why is that?" Sharyn Brien's smile was an amused one, the one you only gave your closest friends when you were teasing them. And she was one of his closest friends. If she hadn't been married to his cousin Kylvis, with children no less, Teublonf may have married her when he returned to Analon. Either her or her sister Rowena, and preferably both._

_"Love does things to people," Teublonf sighed. "It makes them do horrible things in its name. If I'm going to do horrible things, be a horrible person, I'd rather it be because of who I am, not because of some feelings someone else causes me to feel."_

_"Makes sense," she nodded. "You're a twisted person, after all. A great warrior, but a twisted person."_

_Teublonf drained the rest of his ale. "I do not deny it. It's easier to live with horrible actions you've committed when you accept who you are."_

_"Fair," she replied. "I'm a married woman and a mother, and you're a single man, a warrior, who does horrible things. It's what we are. There's no denying either of that."_

_"No," he agreed. "And we all have to live with the consequences of our actions, whether we like it or not. Its just how we live with those consequences it what makes people different."_

~

Teublonf woke to find Dacey Mormont snuggled firmly into his side, his right arm wrapped around her shoulder and her arm wrapped around his waist and head pillowed on his chest. It was weird waking up with a woman in his bed, not a feeling he was used to, but it was a feeling he liked nonetheless. Especially when he knew that woman would never leave him. It wasn't at all what Teublonf hadn't thought it possible when he'd originally returned to Bear Island. 

_I came here to escape my demons, instead I find myself a woman. The gods have an odd_ _sense of humor surely._

Dacey grunted as she got up. She look at him and smiled. "Good morning, ser," he took in her naked body and ran a hand through her brown hair. He liked how it felt. He liked how she felt against his body. Warm and comfortable, it was.

"Which one of us will tell your mother?" he asked, chuckling. "Though I can't imagine her having that much of a problem,"

"She won't," Dacey assured him "If anything she'll wonder why it took so long."

Teublonf raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because," Dacey cupped his face in her hands and kissed him "Like I said, Mormont women choose who they want to marry. Seeing as I chose you, she isn't going to be that annoyed."

"I'm not saying we need to get married now or within a moon's turn. All I'm saying is I want you and eventually, we will be married. Especially if you want me,"

He laughed. "I wouldn't have fucked you that hard if I didn't want you, thats for sure. But I will say, we do need to get up."

"Aye," Dacey stood and got out of bed and began dressing. "Though I wonder how Alysane will react,"

Teublonf jumped out of bed and began dressing as well, though this time he also put his armor and sword belt and warhorn on. "You saw how she was last night. If anything, she'll feel triumphant."

He'd been right. When the two walked into the great hall, Alysane was there with her daughter, as well as, for whatever reason, Véot, who was sitting next to her eating. Neither Teublonf nor Dacey missed the way they looked at each other.

"Aunt Dacey!" Alysane's daughter squirmed out of her seat and made a beeline for Dacey, who laughed and lifted her up and greeted her.

Teublonf saw the smirk on Alysane's face, knowing full well what it meant. He nonetheless accepted the plate of onions, sausage, and cod from her, though he suspected she'd had a similar encounter with Véot, judging by the way they'd looked at each other earlier. Teublonf looked at Alysane and nodded towards the Styric with a knowing look, causing Alysane to look away shyly, though Teublonf knew from experience she was likely in love with the man. Teublonf knew how to mess with both of them now. Especially Véot, the two were old comrades.

Teublonf turned to the still eating Véot, a wicked grin on his face. _"Got your own she-bear, have you now?"_ he asked in the Old Tongue of the Styr

Véot looked up and gawked. _"How'd you know?"_ He did not deny Teublonf's statement.

 _"I've seen the way you look at each other, my friend. She-bears are a treasure, no doubt,"_ he winked.

Véot nodded towards the three Mormonts. _"This keep might get two weddings in short succession if we get our way,"_

 _"Or two children in the next year. She-bears like to scream, thats for sure."_ Teublonf laughed, causing Véot to grin as well. _"And I'm not really complaining,"_

The three Mormonts were looking at them oddly. "What the fuck are you two discussing?" Dacey asked them, an eyebrow raised.

"Language!" Alysane, with her daughter in the same room, was in mother mode. Dacey ignored her.

Teublonf stuck his tongue out at his she-bear. "That, I'm afraid, is none of your business. As are most things we talk about in the Old tongue."

~

That night, Teublonf had been inspecting the Valyrian steel axe he'd claimed from Euron when Dacey walked in. "Oh! the axe!" She locked the door behind her.

It was a beautiful weapon, truly. A little over half his height, the axe's shaft was made of hardened ash and both heads of the axe were made of Valyrian steel, which rippled like the waves of the oceans. Teublonf knew he needed it, but not because it was an axe. But because it was made of Valyrian steel.

"Har, har," Teublonf enjoyed her sense of humor. It was, compared to his, ditzy. "There is enough steel here for a sword, and I might be able to get a _Veulahar_ out of it as well. I have no use for an axe, and I always need new weapons I can use,"

"You're too skinny to use an axe properly," Dacey giggled, causing Teublonf to scowl, as true as it was. Teublonf had once wielded an axe and found it wasn't for him. She then looked confused at the Styric word. "Veulahar?" the word was foreign to Dacey. Of course it was, the word was Styric. Teublonf nodded, and did not miss the way she mispronounced it.

"Pronounced like _voylahar,"_ he slightly corrected her, as she sat down next to him, enjoying the cute scowl on her face. "Its a spear, a little taller than a man, with what is basically an inverted sword pommel at head height, and the rest is blade, perhaps half a foot long. They're typically made entirely of metal, though I wouldn't mind all that much with a wood base, preferably ash or hickory,"

"You're probably not going to get a sword and metal only spear, that axe doesn't have enough if a Veulahar is as tall as a man" Dacey observed. "The question is finding a smith who can smith Valyrian steel, not that many can do it."

"Right. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, as in the Styr, Veulahars are typically made entirely of regular steel. It's what makes them such a deadly weapon in the hands of the correct warrior, and what also makes them so common. But we don't get Valyrian steel weapons in Americanos. Hell, I don't think a single house has a Valyrian steel weapon. I know several houses in Westeros have Valyrian steel swords, and they're not too rare in Essos, either. I even fought a Dothraki with a Valyrian steel Arakh. Caggo, I think his name was."

Teublonf thought for a moment. "And, in truth, If I'm going to get myself a sword and Veulahar, I might as well splurge and buy new armor, though I don't want to get a full set of plate armor."

"Why is that?" Knights and warriors like Teublonf typically wore plate.

"I wear the amount of armor I do because it provides a decent mix of mobility and protection," Teublonf replied. "Chestplate, plate armor on the arms, and a mail _Oronwy_ ,- a armored skirt thats attached to a chestplate," he added when Dacey looked confused. "Mail on the elbows, And a helmet, because the head is important, all above boiled leather." 

"So you'll buy basically everything you have now, but new?" Dacey asked. Teublonf nodded. 

"Its not like I can't afford it. We took a ton of gold from the Crow's Eye."

"How did you afford this armor in the Styr? Did you pay for it?"

Teublonf shook his head. "In the Styr, members of noble houses buy armor on their house's dime, so any armor I got was on House Wanasov. Not that I needed all that much. My nephew on the other hand..." Robyn loved to splurge on his armor. Damn him. 

"Tell me, what is the Styr like?" Dacey asked as she rested her head on his shoulder. It was another intimate feeling Teublonf decided he liked. They weren't really looking at the axe anymore, just out the window of his guest chambers, enjoying each other's company

"Cold," Teublonf deadpanned and Dacey laughed at that. "In all seriousness, its a place one might describe as scenic. Flat plains and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, with rivers, lakes, and streams aplenty. We've also got our own forest and the Styr technically holds domain over the Sovanens of Cold Harbor, the Devons of the Devon Coast, and the Bayrosi of the Baylands. All three places are similarly scenic."

She nodded. "And your people?"

"We're weird, definitely. We're proud that we threw back the Andals, we are proud of our Dréis blood, and we have some aspects that other Americanosi, and even you Westerosi might find weird,"

"Like what?"

"Our language for one," Teublonf deadpanned, causing her to giggle again. "Its part of who we are as Dréis, and we're pretty militaristic. We've defended the Styr for six thousand years ago, after all." He paused to think. "Oh, also, the eldest child inherits, and bastardy is not seen as that shameful, and can even inherit if they're the last of their house."

Dacey nodded. "An interesting place. But it isn't your home anymore, why?"

Teublonf sighed. "After my brother was crowned King, there were three members of our House in total. Us and our sister. For one, I knew I had to get away. I had done way too many things that haunted me, seen too many things. There was also the relationship between my brother and I."

"Which was?"

"Horrible, to say the least," Teublonf laughed hollowly at that. "I think it was out of his resenting me for having the respect of the major Styric lords, which he did not have as he didn't fight with them. Yet, he was the rightful king, my older brother. I left because I didn't want a war breaking out again. Not when the region just fought one,"

She nodded in understanding. Teublonf was her age, perhaps around one and twenty, yet he'd seen (and done) far more than she might ever see or do. But why had he selected Bear Island? Bear Island was a cold, harsh place, not really the kind of place where outsiders settled down. Especially someone from the Styr. The two had little in common aside from the cold, but the Wanasovs never were bothered by that.

As if he read her thoughts, Teublonf smiled. "I returned to Bear Island, with the intention of staying only for a little bit, to get my feet on the ground."

"Yet you stayed," not that she was complaining. She preferred it to any alternative, really.

"Aye, I stayed." he agreed. "Because I found a place that actually wanted me. A family,"

She was floored. She'd never assumed he'd stayed because of any reason like that. "A family?" she wasn't sure entirely what he meant by that, was it just her, or her entire house?

"House Mormont," Teublonf's next words erased any doubt she had. He looked at her quizzically. "What? I sleep with you and we want to get married, that makes you my family, no?"

"Is that why you were so willing to defend Bear Island?"

"Aye," he replied. "I will, regardless of what happens, always be a Wanasov. And we protect our family. Our people. To the death, if need be. Just as well it didn't come to that."

"Just as well," she agreed. "Speaking of marriage, I spoke to my mother and she reacted just as expected. She just told us to let her know when we wanted it,"

Teublonf grinned wickedly, knowing what to say next. "Did you see the way Véot and Alysane looked at each other?"

She nodded. "I teased her relentlessly for her blushing when we sparred. The way it seems this island might get two weddings in a short time," 

_"You'll be howling Véots name soon enough, dear sister." Dacey had teased Alysane earlier that day after Teublonf had told her of Véot and Alysane. She'd initially been surprised, Alysane didn't seem like the kind to truly love a man._

_"And you'll be howling Teublonf's soon enough as well. Unless you haven't already..." Dacey's blush let her sister know everything she needed to know._

"Or as I said to Véot this morning, two children," Teublonf added, causing Dacey to bust out laughing. "Though I never expected to even have thoughts about becoming a father, truthfully,"

"Why not?" In her mind, Teublonf, with his mentality on defending his family, would have made a great father. _Or will make, if he gives me a strong babe soon enough._

"I'd always thought I'd give my life in service of my house. I might join the Blackguard, or if I came to Westeros, join the Kingsguard, maybe. Maybe have a paramour, but never a wife a child."

"Just because you serve someone doesn't mean you have to not have a family," she pointed out. "Unless you join the Blackguard or Kingsguard," she added after Teublonf snorted.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, wanting to say something, just as she stuck her hand inside his breeches and fondled his balls, a smirk on her face. "Gods, Dace, what are you doing?" but while he seemed surprised, he didn't reject her in anyway.

"Take your clothes off and lie on the bed," she ordered, surprised at her tone. She didn't expect it to be so authoritative. But her bolt didn't seem to mind.

Teublonf did so and lay on the bed as she ordered, clearly enjoying this side of her. "And now what?" he grinned

What followed was, in Teublonf's mind, the most agonizing few minutes of his time with her, watching as the woman played the role of seductress, slowly but surely taking off her clothes and swaying her hips (like a whore might, but Teublonf thought Dacey was far better than that) as he slowly got hard for her to see. There was no denying it was large, in Dacey's mind. Yet, he didn't move at all, evidently enjoying this part of his she bear. She was hypnotic in so many ways. And she knew he would endure a thousand deaths just to see this side of her.

Dacey grinned wickedly. She knew she had the power over him, knew he enjoyed it, and planned on using it as much as she could. She made her way over to the bed and got right between his legs, and placed her hand on his cock and began stroking slowly. Teublonf let out a long sigh of pleasure, but he'd yet to release. Dacey was determined to get one out of him.

Her next move was to place her mouth on it and begin sucking, and that got Teublonf to spill his seed in her mouth, eliciting yet another moan of pleasure from the man. She found she liked the taste of his seed. And his moans, as well.

"Mmm, tasty," she grinned, looking up and meeting his eyes, which were wanting with desire. "But I'm not done with your cock yet."

"And," she added, her tone full of lust. "I'm not done with you yet, either, my love." She began stroking his cock again, with her other hand cupping his balls.

"Gods, Dace," he sighed in pleasure, arching his back. "Your hands are perfect,"

"I'm glad you think that," she brought him to release again, causing Teublonf to spill his seed all over his groin. "And now they've gotten you to release."

"I want that again," he pled. But she shook her head seriously

"Oh no, I'm afraid," she felt like she owned him at this point, though he seemed not to mind. "I decide what your cock does tonight, and I've decided that now it's going inside me now."

She positioned herself over his cock, her hands firmly on his thighs and took one last look at him before sliding down, enjoying how it entered her wet cunt, enjoying the feeling of his previously spilled seed as she pounded on him. Both of them moaned in pleasure, and she moaned even louder as Teublonf's hands shot up and began moving everywhere on her body: her ribs, her teats, all across her body, causing her body to feel like it was on fire. In response to the pleasure, she began pounding up and down even harder. But if anything it motivated him even more, and she felt her knees growing weak. His hands were indeed magical.

"Fuck - Teublonf I'm close!" Dacey felt her release coming. Her knees were dangerously weak now.

"So am I - Just - ngh - do it!" he yelled back.

She felt her release come soon after, yelling his name out in pleasure as she did so. Teublonf yelled her name in kind, and Dacey collapsed on his chest, rolling so that she was snuggled in his side. Before she had a chance to say something, he pulled her in for a kiss, his tongue sliding in her mouth as Dacey's hand cupped his jaw towards her.

"Gods, Dace. That was amazing," he breathed when they finally broke apart. Dacey grinned and pulled him in for another kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth this time.

"I love you," she said when they pulled apart. She felt rather tired; their sex wasn't long but it had been intense and it tired her all the same.

"Love you too, my sweet," he replied, smiling. "But next time we have sex I want to show you what a man's tongue can do. You'll learn the meaning of the phrase 'silver tongued, thats for sure,"

She suddenly felt invigorated and got up. "Why not show me now?"

Teublonf grinned in kind. "As my love commands, I may also show you what my fingers are capable of. If you're a good girl that is,"

And as Alysane had predicted, Dacey howled Teublonf's name in ecstasy, thanks to his tongue and fingers, for all of Bear Island to hear.


	7. 6:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on another chapter so did this one just cause.
> 
> Haragon's part of the chapter takes place around the time of Chapter 1, where Teublonf meets the Mormonts.  
> Teublonf's takes place much later

_"I often wonder why you did what you did. Because of who you are? For the Styr? For yourself?"_

_Teublonf remained silent, and Haragon pressed on. "Because your a despicable person, a twisted person, one who should have been killed in the cradle. Maybe thats why." He circled his brother. "And you should have been killed in the cradle. It would have been so simple, really. Just smother you with a pillow and none of this would have-"_

_Teublonf slammed Haragon against the wall, yet his face remained impassive. Haragon, however, would not stop. "Maybe none of this would have happened."  
_

_Teublonf drew his dagger and pointed it at Haragon's throat. Now the man was fearful._

_"You don't understand, do you? You never will." Teublonf's voice was deadly calm. "I have my reasons. Maybe because I am a twisted person, because I am that. Maybe because it was for the Styr. Maybe, just maybe, so you could have a home to return to."_

_"Let me go," Haragon demanded. But Teublonf was unswayed._

_"And why should I do that?" So you can dispose of me? You've no idea what I can or will do to you. Thats fun, really. To hold someone's fate in your hands. To be able to make a decision regardless of what they need or want. That power, its a high, and I must make the most of it while I can."_

_Haragon struggled in his brother's iron grip. Teublonf, however, smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes._

_"Oh, what fun it is to hold that power. You'll not need to understand soon enough, for you'll have all the power you want as King. King, you are, because I fully embraced the twisted person I am and staged a coup for you. Seven Hells, Haragon. You will never understand me. Not that you ever have, or ever will."_

**Haragon**

He was livid that he'd allowed Teublonf to leave, now that he had time to reflect.

In truth, he shouldn't have. Teublonf had the respect of the Styric lords Haragon severely lacked; his support would have tied down the Styric lords for a generation. Plus, Teublonf was five years younger and Haragon could have made him his heir. That would have pacified the lords of his homeland. Plus it would have given him freedom to drink and fuck his way to an early grave. Instead, he'd been forced into a marriage with Fiona Northern, the eldest daughter of the former Easterlander king. She'd been pretty enough, with a close enough resemblance to his first wife that Haragon could stomach looking at her, but Haragon thought she had the personality of a toad. All for an heir, for another Wanasov. At least she thought the same of him, so their time together was mainly in the bedroom doing their duty as husband and wife, eugh. He needed a whore to cleanse him

Sure, Haragon was the elder brother. The eldest remaining child of Devon and Eliza. But Niklas Sovanen had been right, if Teublonf hadn't been the one stitching the region together, leading their armies and getting rid of the likes of Ventis Sento, Haragon wouldn't have had a home to return to. The Hero of Ofan, they sang from Cold Harbor to Dorne. The man who'd held a city while outnumbered almost seven to one. The man who gave everything he had for his house, for his home. The man who'd had to lose it all because of the laws of succession.

The part of Haragon that leaned towards justice and honor was glad he'd allowed Teublonf to go. Teublonf and justice mixed as well as one might expect: The man had very little respect for justice when dealt to him (not that that had ever happened) but dished it out as he saw fit. Until Haragon let him leave. Made him, more like It wasn't like Teublonf was honorable and just in any way. The man fucked their sister, he also strangled their mother and killed two of their brothers and nephew. Teublonf was a kingslayer, a kinslayer, and sister fucker, he had committed the three worst crimes a man could commit.

He was also a twisted person. A great warrior, no doubt, but a genuinely twisted person. Why someone could live with themselves while being a twisted person, Haragon had no idea.

To his credit, he hadn't denied the charges when the two met at Debarne before Ofan, and his crimes were somewhat of an open secret among the Lords, none of whom really cared. But why hadn't they? It made no sense. 

_"I had to do what I had to for our house. For you and for Cameron,"_ Teublonf had said. _"And yet you think of me as a monster."_

 _"You are a monster."_ Haragon had told him. Only a monster strangled their mother and fucked their sister. Teublonf had managed to do both.

 _"You will sit the Blackwood Throne in two days time thanks to me."_ Their exchange had occurred well after Ofan. Teublonf was drinking, though his mind seemed clear still. _"You're an ungrateful, whoremongering, drunk cunt. I pity the woman that you marry next. She's going to be the most dishonored woman from Cold Harbor to Dorne. Though I suspect the whores will be happy."_

_"She won't have to be if I don't marry."_

_"The Styric lords won't understand if you don't. Trust me, I know them well."_ Teublonf knew the Styric lords better than anyone so Haragon chose to believe him. He regretted that, too.

_"You expect us to care?" Swyl Sovanen had asked when Haragon had asked at the Great Council. "Without him we wouldn't be united. Without him we wouldn't have to worry about Sento and Robyn throw away our pride and homes for their own benefit. I think crimes like those can be excused in a time like that." The other Lords, including the likes of Lady Koselka and Lord Telcontar (his two strongest bannermen) all nodded their assent._

Teublonf had been pissed when Haragon accused him. He hadn't denied the accusations, but had mockingly asked Haragon if he had done as much as he had. It all canceled out, in Teublonf's mind. But not in Haragon's. A part of him wanted justice. For his mother, in particular. Haragon loved her more than he loved his father, and Teublonf strangled her. A part of him was glad to see the younger man leave for Westeros.

Yet when Teublonf had said he was going to Westeros, Haragon didn't want him to leave

~

 _"I need you here. I need men I can trust as I try to rebuild our homeland,"_ Haragon had told him

_His younger brother shook his head. "I've committed too many crimes to remain here. My demons will haunt me if I remain here for the rest of my life."_

_"Treason is subjective,"_ Haragon had shrugged, realizing Swyl Sovanen had been right. But Teublonf shook his head again.

_"Is incest? Is kinslaying? What will happen when they find out about the fact that I killed our mother? Our nephew? What will happen then? You're too damn honorable to let that slide, no?_

Again, Haragon shrugged, ignoring the fact that the Styric lords knew and didn't care. _"War makes people into things they did not think possible, things they regret in peacetime or in death. War changes people."_

 _Aye,"_ he agreed. _"It made you a coward."_

It was true, Haragon hid even as his brother and their most loyal supporters were slaughtered. Yet Haragon was as much a Wanasov as Teublonf, and Wanasovs did not take to slights well.

That criticism had ended that conversation and Haragon, in a rage, told Teublonf, to leave in and never come back lest Haragon charge him with his crimes.

But now, he regretted it.

Teublonf had known how to handle the Styric 'court.', and had the respect of the Lords, respect that Haragon needed but lacked. They listened to him. They'd fight for him. Haragon on the other hand had his hands full, and was frequently tested by them. Haragon had made sure to appease the Frosts and Nokoseovs and Northerns in their own way, the Northerns and Frosts through his and Raméa's marriages, respectively. The Valley had been satisfied after Haragon managed to convince them that the situation they were in was what Cameron would have wanted. Perhaps he was right, perhaps he was wrong. He'd never know. But the Styric lords were difficult to please. Somehow Teublonf did it without trying.

Haragon knew his next course of action. Teublonf had always cared about his house, his family, his people. Maybe Haragon could use that to his leverage. Teublonf would fight for the Styr, even when it cost him. Maybe he'd do so again if his brother asked him. Just maybe.

He just hoped Teublonf was as miserable in Westeros as Haragon was in Americanos

_Teublonf_

_I need you here. The Styric court is too much to handle, and I need someone who has their respect and loyalty. That someone is you. The Hero of Ofan, they call you from Cold Harbor to Dorne. Even the Mernishmen furthest south talk about it. You're maybe the most respected man in the Styr, maybe even the Four Kingdoms. I need that man by my side. Now._

_I also need an heir. I've heard whispers that my lady wife takes moon tea to prevent bearing my child which either forces me to get a bastard on a wench and legitimize them (unsavory for several reasons) or name our sister my heir, a woman whose taken to being Lady Paramount of the Estenhaal and Lady of Demoory to heart, which would be seen as favoritism to the Estenhaal. I can't afford that now. I hope you understand._

_You've no idea how much it would mean to me. I need my ally, my brother back home with me_

_-Haragon Wanasov, King on the Blackwood Throne and Ruler of Four Kingdoms._

Haragon called for Niklas Sovanen and ordered him to take the letter with him on the next Cold Harbor longship, which was due to leave the next day, and told him in no uncertain terms that Teublonf was required to come back. _"Come back with my brother or don't come back at all,"_ after which Haragon went to bed. Soon enough, he'd get his brother back and everything would return to normal.

**Teublonf**

To say that Teublonf had been infuriated at Haragon was an understatement. When Niklas Sovanen had arrived in Bear Island, Teublonf had initially been happy to see someone from his old life. But it had all changed when Niklas had handed him the letter after the two met in Maege Mormont's solar.

Teublonf opened it suspiciously and read it, becoming angry in the process.

_Teublonf_

_I need you here. The Styric court is too much to handle, and I need someone who has their respect and loyalty. That someone is you. The Hero of Ofan, they call you from Cold Harbor to Dorne. Even the Mernishmen furthest south talk about it. You're maybe the most respected man in the Styr, maybe even the Four Kingdoms. I need that man by my side. Now._

_I also need an heir. I've heard whispers that my lady wife takes moon tea to prevent bearing my child which either forces me to get a bastard on a wench and legitimize them (unsavory for several reasons) or name our sister my heir, a woman whose taken to being Lady Paramount of the Estenhaal and Lady of Demoory to heart, which would be seen as favoritism to the Estenhaal. I can't afford that now. I hope you understand._

_You've no idea how much it would mean to me. I need my ally, my brother back home with me_

_-Haragon Wanasov, King on the Blackwood Throne and Ruler of Four Kingdoms._

"Tell me," his tone was deadly calm. "Did Haragon give me a choice?"

Niklas suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Maybe,"

"Thats a no then. We're done here, then." he made to leave.

He was about to exit the solar when Niklas called out to him. "Wait!"

Against his better judgement, Teublonf turned, seeing the other man was standing as well. "Do you not care about the Styr? About Haragon."

"The Styr isn't my home anymore. Bear Island is." It was true. Bear Island was his home now. He'd begun building a life here, he had a place. He had Dacey. None of those existed in the Styr.

"Bear Island? You mean this shithole?" Teublonf did not miss the arrogance in the Sovanen's tone. He was also thankful Dacey wasn't here, she would have caved his head in.

"You're from Cold Harbor, you should be well versed in shithole islands." Teublonf snapped back.

So Niklas tried what Teublonf guessed what his other talking point was. "And what about Haragon? He's miserable as King. He needs an ally like you."

"You mean a man he threatened to kill?"

"You don't care about him," Niklas accused, his eyes narrowing. Teublonf nodded.

"Aye, I don't. Its pretty hard to care about him these days."

"So what do I do now? Haragon told me I had to go back with you or not all, and its not like you're going back with me.

So Haragon was exiling yet another former Styric warrior. Typical. "You stay, or you can head elsewhere in Westeros," Teublonf made to leave, and that was the end of the discussion. He would be staying, and apparently so would Niklas Sovanen.

The discussion hadn't been that long and no one on the island hadn't been surprised at its outcome, but at least it brought Teublonf some finality. He had well and truly made his decision to leave the Styr and stay on Bear Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't take this too seriously :)

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue this? Let me know


End file.
